Nellie appeared to be willing to take up the subject from a thoughtful and scientific stand-point.
“I don’t know that I think it fortunate,” she replied. “It does not seem to me that the absence of fine-looking, amusing young men is a matter for any community to congratulate itself upon.”
It would have been impossible, of course, that any girl with a profile like Nellie’s should wish deliberately to annoy another human being—least of all a thoroughly domesticated fiancé. Certainly such an idea never occurred to Emmons, and yet none the less he found himself distinctly irritated.
“I hardly think you would find the community improved by changing men like Dr. Briggs and the Reverend Mr. Fowler for men of the type of your cousin.”
Nellie laughed. “I only suggested that Mr. Overton would find them more amusing at dinner,” she said.
“I think,” said Emmons, “that you are talking without thinking.”
She seemed at any rate quite willing to think without talking, and a pause fell upon the conversation. It was almost with relief that they heard the sound of the village fire-bell break in upon the silence. Ding-dong, ding-dong—a regular, terrible sound of warning, almost like a human voice calling for help in the darkness. Nellie started up. The sound brought recollections of old tragedies. Fire seldom visited Hilltop, but when it came the little town was almost helpless. Emmons rose, too, but more slowly. They went to the door and listened.
Already the quiet night was full of the sounds of shouting and hurrying feet, and then the tinkle of the little hand fire-machine. The fire was at some distance, for the tinkling grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away entirely.
“Oh, let’s go, James,” said Nellie.
A man may be pardoned for not wishing to take his fiancée to one of the few situations where he can not shine. Emmons shook his head, pouting out his lips slightly.